


where the love light gleams

by distractionpie



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Background Hannukah, Christmas Eve, Coincidences, Fluff, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Pining, Road Trips, Snow Storm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 16:27:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8998282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distractionpie/pseuds/distractionpie
Summary: Loving somebody three thousand miles away is never easy, but it's at it hardest during the time of year that's all about togetherness. Liebgott has his family, Webster has his degree and his internship, and they both have the hope that by next year the universe will stop conspiring to keep them apart.Neither of them are suited to waiting and hoping.





	

Interstates are supposed to be fast, but there's nothing like almost white out conditions to bring traffic to a bumper to bumper grind, and all Joe has seen for over an hour is a constant cascade of snow and the glaring red of taillights. Even when he had been able to see more than a few yards in front of him he'd been deep into the Midwest and farm country, no view beyond miles and miles of flat icy fields. The conditions are giving him a headache, he's nearly skidded twice on the icy roads, and he's already running six hours behind time due to accidents further back on the road from people who had spun out, so when he sees a brightly lit exit-sign promising a truck stop and rest area he signals and pulls into the slip lane. He's not making it any further tonight.

Driving east had been a last minute decision.

The internship Webster was working alongside his master’s degree was keeping him working right up until 5pm on Christmas eve and wanted him back at his desk by 8am the twenty-seventh so there was no practical way for him to get out to San Francisco in time for the holiday, or back again in time for work. After missing him at Thanksgiving, Joe was longing to see him in person again, but they’d survived a year of uninterrupted long distance between the summer they’d met and Webster getting back out to San Francisco for a second summer, and now Webster is in the final year of his degree and next summer he’ll be coming west for good, so when forced to choose between the long trip east for a two day Christmas with Webster or staying home for Hanukkah with his family, he’d focused on the thought that he and Webster had already lasted a long time apart, and that next year he wouldn’t have to choose. Next year he’ll let Web put a Christmas tree up in Joe’s apartment, because it will be _their_ apartment by then, and he’ll bring Webster along to spend Hanukkah with his family and Joe’s relatives might tease him about not knowing all the right traditions but Webster’s smart and has never hesitated to committing his mind to the things that matter to Joe, so he’ll learn fast and Joe’s family will be impressed with him for it though they’d still love him even if he were the slowest learner on earth. Joe had resigned himself to being patient a little longer, reminded himself that the months until spring break would fly by, just so long as he didn't think about the distance.

This acceptance of the separation had lasted until midmorning on December the 22rd when his mother had summoned him into the kitchen and hugged him firmly before placing his car keys in his hand.

Joe had tried to protest, but his mother had just shaken her head and scolded him for the pining he’d thought he’d been doing a good job of hiding. She’d told him that he was always welcome but that their family had nearly thirty years of having Joe home for the holidays, said it was clear that for Joe the family was one person larger now, and if that was the person he needed to be with to be happy then that was where she wanted him to go. Joe's resolve had crumbled to dust.

The push to leave had come with the caveat that Joe damn well better find a way to bring Webster along with him next time, Joe’s mom was no saint after all, but that was hardly a surprise and suited Joe’s plans just fine. When he’d set out he’d figured he’d get to Boston on Christmas morning, but now it’s getting late on Christmas eve and even if the storm clears up and he can start driving again at daybreak, he’ll be hard pressed to get to Web with much of Christmas day left at all.

He pulls up in the parking lot of the rest stop and tries to reconcile himself with being stuck here for the night. It's the worst of both worlds, no celebration of Hanukkah or Christmas, no family or Webster, and it feels like shit. There's a motel but it's dingy looking and Joe's got a heater and blankets in the car, had slept in his back seat plenty of times during youthful road trips. If he's going to be miserable he might as well do it properly.

His only consolation is that his phone has been charging as he drove, so while he might not be with any of the people he wants to see he can at least speak with them before he falls asleep.

Webster is top of Joe's recent contact list, as he nearly always is, and Joe presses call and waits to hear Webster's greeting, always so proper even though caller id means he must know it's Joe he's speaking with, but the phone just rings. It's getting late, but it's hardly unreasonably so, especially when Webster's on eastern time. It's not like he'd be tucked up in bed and waiting for father Christmas, it doesn't make sense. Web always answers his phone unless he’s driving, even when he’s sleeping he'll always pick up even if it's just to grumble about being disturbed and then hang up; or, more commonly these days, to hum drowsy replies to whatever Joe says until he falls back asleep still on the line.

The phone keeps ringing.

Webster had seemed content with Christmas apart, and Joe wonders if he’s out with friends, at a party perhaps - someplace too loud to hear the incoming call. It’s cruel of him, he thinks, that a part of him was hoping that Webster was as homesick and lonely as him, he should be glad that Webster has better things to do than wait for him to call, but all the same it would have been nice to know that Webster was thinking of him.

The phone keeps ringing, but Joe hangs up.

He calls his mom next, and the phone barely manages to ring before she picks up. She's quick to scold him for not calling earlier, and though Joe can't resist bitching about the traffic he takes care not to mention the storm or that he's stuck - the last thing he wants is to worry her.

He stays on the line as she passes the phone to everyone she can find, a whole host of relatives who might not understand his absence but wish him well all the same, until finally she starts fussing that he'll run up his phone bill (try as he might Joe just can't seem to explain an unlimited calling plan in a way she understands). He drags out goodbyes and goodnights for another five minutes, but finally he's got no more excuses not to hang up.

He checks his messages but there's nothing new. Then all he can do it bed down and hope the road ahead looks clearer in the morning.

*

David yawns.

The red blur of tail lights though the snow is soporific and it’s going to take a hell of a lot of coffee to keep him going after nearly thirty hours straight of driving, broken up by only two brief naps. He has to keep on though.

It had gutted him when he’d found out that his internship would trap him in the north east for Christmas, though he’d made sure not to show it during his skype calls with Joe – Joe should have his happy Hanukkah with his family without having to think about David home alone. After all, it was David’s choice to distance himself so far from his family that they wouldn’t invite him home for the holidays, and to take the stupid internship that will improve his employment prospect but had hours that had taken a far higher toll on his personal than he’d expected. He knows he needs the damn internship, but in the privacy of the night he can admit at least to himself that he’s sorely tempted to throw it all away, to get to San Francisco and ask Joe if he can just _stay_.

He'd been set to drown himself in his work to keep from having to think about how alone he was, when his boss had turned around on the 23rd and announced a sudden change of plans, keeping the interns in meant keeping management around too, and since management wanted to be home for the holidays they were all being sent home early and not needed back until the new year. There’s a part of David that’s furious that his boss would leave a decision like that so last minute, almost too late to be useful to anyone, but then again he knows that most of the interns are local, probably assumes that Webster would hear go home and head across to New York and his parents stifling parties, not set his sights a long way west.

Hell, even David had never meant to drive like this. His car is for driving from his apartment to campus to his internship, crawling through the city streets and never coming close to the speed limit, a little hybrid prius that he'd never planned on taking long distance – hell, if Lieb hadn't talked him out of it David would probably have bought a solely electric car because if he wanted to go anywhere more than a short trip away he would fly. Only when he'd spent his lunch break searching after hearing of the extra days, he hadn't been able to find a single flight that could get him cross country without leaving him stranded anywhere or priced at an amount that even David, partially supported by family money, found obscene. Good sense dictated that at that point he should have accepted his fate, even if the lack of work meant it would be impossible to ignore his loneliness, but as was often the case when Joe was concerned, Webster's good sense was swept away in a tide of longing and wild, reckless hope. If he had the chance to be with Lieb for the holidays, even for just a few stolen days sandwiched between marathon days of driving then he had to take it.

They’ve been apart for far too long.

David can feel tiredness pulling at his eyelids, he’d forgotten how exhausted it made him to drive for more than a few hours at time - it had been so long since he'd made a trip longer than his commute. Driving home from work to pack a bag and then heading right back out again, it’s some sort of madness; he's never attempted anything even close to a cross country distance before, let alone such a distance with minimal breaks. He’s really not worried about tiring though, he’s got motivation enough to push through his exhaustion and face the distance, but he has to admit the weather concerns him.

The snow is falling thick and fast, and until now David's approach to driving in difficult weather has always been just don't. Now he wants to, needs to keep going, can't afford to stop or shouldn't slow down too much, but in truth he's glad of the traffic, can't imagine driving at highway speed when the roads are turning to ice and the wind is whipping flurries of snow onto his windscreen faster than his wipers can clear it away.

When he next glances down at the clock he realises that it's ticked past eleven, the figures rapidly rolling towards midnight and Christmas day. He’s willing to see Christmas in on the highway if that’s what it takes to get to Lieb, but his gas is looking low too, so he pulls in at the next rest stop he sees, to refuel the car and himself.

When he opens the car door he's almost tempted to slam it closed again, so bitter is the wind as it sweeps the snow into his car. Except it's more hail than snow at this point, stinging as it hits his cheeks while he's pumping gas. The rates are a rip off, but that's to be expected when there's nowhere else to get gas for miles.

Once his tank is full he hops back into the car and pulls in to a real parting spot, he parks badly, can admit much to himself, but the rest stop is mostly empty, nobody is going to care if he's parked over two spaces for five minutes. After only a few minutes with the heater off the car has already cooled unpleasantly.

David heads over to the station to pay, but as he's crossing the lot his gaze catches on the familiar form of a 70s mustang, grabbing his attention even in the dim lighting and through thick clouds of snow. It's even the same shade of dark red as Lieb's precious museum piece, once his father’s and more _old_ than vintage, and it makes David's heart ache with how much he wants to be in San Francisco already. Even if this storm clears as fast as the radio says it will and he can finally pick up some real speed, he'll still have to drive all through Christmas day, won't make it until after dinner time. He should really call ahead and warn Joe of his plans, he doesn't doubt his welcome but it's still hardly reasonable to turn up on his doorstep uninvited – the only think that's held him back so far is the concern that he wouldn't make it, that the weather will force to stop so long that he runs out of time and he can't bear to share his hopes while there is still chance of failure.

The gas station offers only cheap no name coffee at the prices he'd expect for a fancy brand, but he's too tired to care. He drinks the coffee in fast, careless gulps – it tastes vile and it burns his tongue on the way down, but while he'd usually consider himself something of a connoisseur, right now it's just a vehicle for desperately needed caffeine. When pays he doesn't look at the numbers on the register, right now gas and caffeine are essentials and he'd pay their weight in gold if that was what was needed.

As he's exiting the gas station he takes another longing look as the mustang, and notices that there's a sticker on the bumper. David wanders closer, curious as to what it says, wondering what this person who clearly shares Lieb's taste in cars would have on their bumper sticker. He hopes it's something funny so that he can take a picture and send it to Lieb, get through the next eighteen hours of driving thinking about Lieb's laughter. Walking across the rest stop parking lot has only hammered home how poor the weather is, the worse of all possible driving conditions and the temptation to stop for the night, even after coffee, clings to him, it's only the thought of seeing Lieb again that makes getting back into his car bearable.

Finally, he's close enough to read the sticker, twice as near as he'd need to be were it not for the snow, bold yellow letters on a black background:

_My other car is the Batmobile_.

*

Joe's eyes keep drifting shut, and each time he shivers himself awake the hands on his watch have moved further than expected, but he can't seem to settle himself into a real sleep. He's mentally fatigued from concentrating on driving, but his body can't get in sync with his brain, shifting restless after having been cooped up in the driver’s seat all day.  Still, it’s a shock when he’s roused not by his own restlessness but by a sudden tapping on the window.

For a moment he remains frozen still, wondering if he can fake sleep, and remembering all the reasons that sleeping in a public parking lot is inadvisable, but the tapping doesn’t stop.

It’s not, he realises, the uncontrolled hits of a drunk or the aggressive banging of somebody who might be looking to start trouble, but a polite knock. Two quick taps and a short pause, then another tap and a longer pause before repeating. As little as he wants to get up, it seems like the decent thing to do to at least check that is isn’t another motorist in distress – after all he’s got jump cables and a decent toolkit in his trunk.

When he finally sits up and eases his eyes open he realises that he must have slipped into a deeper sleep than he’d thought and be dreaming still.

Through the frost on the windowpane, hazy in the dim light, he sees an intimately familiar face.

He reaches for the door, swinging it open, and in his shock doesn't even notice the sudden drop in temperature.

"Webster?!"

It comes out almost shrill with surprise, but Webster doesn't seem to notice, climbing into the backseat and slamming the door behind him.

“Hey, hey! Jeez, there’s barely enough room for one person back here,” Joe complains, as he shuffles himself up the seat, trying to make room for Webster’s lanky body. Joe is still quite suspicious that he's dreaming, right up until the point Webster grabs on to him to steady himself and his fingers are like _ice_ \- it's more effective than any amount of pinching would be to assure Joe's wakefulness.

"Joe..." Webster whispers, reverent; and Joe is so fucking confused but that can wait a moment.

"Toss your wet coat in the front," he orders, untangling the blankets until he can lift them and let Webster crawl under them with him. It's awkward and cramped, in order to fit Webster is laid mostly on top of him and Joe still has no fucking clue why or how Webster has appeared, but just having Web with him settles the ache that's been resting in his heart.

"So, fancy seeing you here..." Webster mutters ridiculously, from where his face is pressed into the collar of Joe’s shirt.

Joe splutters. “Fancy- for fucks sake,” he shakes his head, “Really? You show up outside my car in the middle of the night and that’s what you’re opening with? You’re supposed to be in Boston.”

"My boss decided on the 23rd that lowly interns deserve proper winter breaks too, told us not to come in from Christmas eve until the new year," Webster explains, "My current theory is that he realised if he made us stay then somebody in management was also going to have to stay and supervise, and he's the obvious pick."

That makes sense enough, but still misses the key point. "But why are you at a rest stop in fucking the middle of fucking nowhere in the Midwest?"

"I needed gas," Webster says simply, " Also coffee. Boston to California is a long drive."

He says it like it's a given, like it makes perfect sense that he’d be driving cross country even though he hates driving and had been utterly perplexed when Joe had once extolled to him the joy of a good road trip. The shock of that almost lets the other implications slip by him. Almost. “Coffee?” Joe says, with dawning horror. “You were going to keep driving _in this_?” Joe makes an aborted gesture towards the storm, unable to convey the full extent of how fucking terrible an idea that is.

Webster gives a small shrug from beneath the blankets. “I wanted to get to you before Christmas was over,” he says, as if that’s a perfectly good reason for doing something so idiotic.

“Oh yeah!” Joe snaps, “That’s exactly what I want for Christmas, a phone call saying that you’ve been in an icy fucking wreck.”

“It’s not-” Webster begins to protest, but Joe doesn’t let him continue.

“It is,” he says firmly, placing a hand on Webster’s jaw and guiding his face upwards until he’s looking Joe in the eyes. Joe needs to know that Webster understands how serious he is about this. “Web, it’s a fucking blizzard out there. I already saw five accidents tonight before I pulled in,” three had looked minor, cars that had skidded and fucked up their paintwork or bent their bumpers, but the other two… “I… shit, I’ve missed you, but I don’t want… I never want to see you so badly that it’s worth you taking stupid risks!” he says, and he knows he comes out snappish and mean, but even with Webster here and safe he can’t help picturing Webster’s stupid fucking prius smashed and flipped in the snow. “Promise me, Web- David.”

Webster looks up at him gravely and then nods slowly. “I promise,” he says, quiet and serious, and he looks over to the window with a frown, like maybe he’s only just understanding how bad the conditions are out there. “You’re right, it’s a mess out there. I guess I just wasn’t thinking properly.” Damn right he wasn’t. But to be this far west having only changed his plans on the 23rd Webster has to have been driving pretty much non-stop, and even an experienced driver would struggle to keep a clear head for that long behind the wheel. It doesn’t make it right, but it’s enough that Joe pushes his frustration down, forcing himself to focus on the fact that there was no hard done, and Webster won’t make the same mistake again.

“Well, it looks like neither of us’ll be home for the holidays,” Joe says, and he’s not sure how to feel about that. On one hand they’re stranded in a storm, crammed in the uncomfortable back seat of a cold car; but on the other, they’re in this absurd situation together.

“Now you don’t need to come to Boston, you can still make it back to your family for the back end of Hanukkah. And this feels like home to me,” Webster says, snuggling closer into Joe’s chest, and Joe’s heart melts at the same time as he fights the urge to snort with laughter because that’s the cheesiest thing anybody has ever said to him.

“Jeez Web, you know you’re nuts, right?” he says, tugging his shirt collar up so that Webster’s snow damp curls aren’t touching the bare skin of his neck. “You should have called ahead to me. I figured I’d surprise you in Boston, because I knew you were planning to stay home, but I was supposed to spend the week going up and down the state visiting all kinds of extended family – what would you have done if you’d got to my apartment and I’d been at my aunt’s in L.A or somewhere?”

“Oh god,” Webster says with a sudden burst of choked laughter, instead of answering, “I wanted to surprise you, but imagine if you hadn’t stopped or I hadn’t noticed your car and we’d still ended up on opposite coasts.”

“You’ve have been alright, my mom would welcome you with open arms any time,” Joe says, though he can’t help laughing along. “Whereas I’d have been fucked in Boston.”

“Boston is terrible,” Webster agrees. It’s a lie, every time they’ve spoke it’s been clear that Webster is having the time of his life in Boston, so much so that Joe had wondered how he’d cope with leaving there for San Francisco, but knowing that Webster had decided to drive to him for the holidays is a balm to Joe’s concerns.

Whatever his past worries were are irrelevant now, it's time to face the situation they're in.

On his own, Joe could rough it out in his car for one night, he didn’t need to be comfortable when he was only looking for the minimum amount of sleep to sustain him until he could get to Webster. Now that Webster is here, however, the pair of them sleeping in the car is impractical. “You wanna go see if that motel has vacancies?” Joe asks. Webster is silent. Joe wakes a moment then nudges him. “Are you faking sleep?” Webster hums against his chest. _Lazy idiot_. “You’re not fooling anybody. I’ll open the door,” Joe threatens.

“You wouldn’t.”

Joe would. He’d feel bad about shocking Webster with cold when he’s finally starting to warm up, but they really can’t sleep here. He shoves at Webster’s shoulders until he grudgingly raises himself up enough that Joe can scramble his way out from under him into a sensible sitting position – although he promptly flops right back down and rests his head in Joe’s lap.

“I thought you said you’d had coffee,” Joe complains, “Get your ass up.”

“Caffeine hasn’t kicked in yet,” Webster says. “Give me 30 minutes and I’ll be ready to go,” his voice drops low and sultry as he says the last part, nuzzling into Joe’s lap, and under other circumstances Joe might fall for such persuasion, but right now he’s honestly too tired to take Webster up on the implication even if he wanted to.

“I’m gonna be asleep in thirty minutes,” Joe confesses, “And frankly I’d rather be in a bed for it. You can wake me up however you want though,” he adds, “Just so long as it’s not before eight-thirty.”

Webster huffs and sits up, “Fine,” he grumbles, reaching over to grab his coat out of the front seat, “But if you think I’m walking all the way back over to my car for my overnight bag just because you’ve come over all sensible, you’ve got another thing coming.”

“Don’t worry, I’m pretty sure I’ll be able to keep you warm even if you don’t bring your pajamas,” Joe assures him, “Now come on, let’s just make a break for it.”

He swings open the car door and darts for the motel, Webster tight on his heels.

Behind them the numbers on the gas station clock roll over.

00:01

**Author's Note:**

> **Merry Christmas.**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Title from Frank Sinatra's I'll Be Home For Christmas, which was the other main song on my playlist for this fic along with Driving Home For Christmas by Chris Rea which was the initial inspiration.  
> Thanks to Aliaaaaaa/@Webgottrash for uggesteing a fitting and recognisable car for Lieb to own.  
> Some liberties were taken with the geography of the U.S.A and the practicalities of cross-country road trips, but my basic googling suggests that the trips & timings used here are possible if not exactly likely.


End file.
